Forgive or Forget?
by Junamrsgrl
Summary: Starts out on the first day of Gio's life...sans Betty. What happened to Gio after Betty blew him off at the Mode softball game-can he forgive her? Or does he just want to forget? Betty and the others will eventually drop in. Getty in the end? Read on...
1. Dead To Me

**_Author's Note_: This story may seem familiar to some of you- your eyes are not deceiving you. This is a revamped edition of The Flight, a Gio fic I added about a month ago. That was intended to be a one-shot; I have since decided to continue on with this story, and use an expanded version of The Flight as the starting point. In addition, I have enlisted the help of one Stuley23, my BGF (Best Getty Friend) and Getty Match, in the continuation of this story....so for those of you who know what this means, yes- this is the 1st OFFICIAL**** Junastu fic!!**

**I'm leaving the original story posted for context and posterity, and cuz well, it got some good reviews and who doesn't like to keep those? : ) I've decided to also use names of songs as reflects the mood of the characters, as some of my fellow writers have recently done. The first chapter is named after a great song from The Dreaming (one of my fave bands).**

**Oh, and I'm just going to warn you- this story opens with a *really* angry Gio.**

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I sat in Terminal 7 at JFK alone. Brooding. I kept my eyes averted; not only did I have no desire to allow my horrible mood to rub off on all these unsuspecting shiny happy people, I didn't want to see them either. I didn't want to witness the old couple, obviously still in love with each other after who knows how long, sitting across from me huddled close and looking at each other tenderly- it gave me the sensation of a knife slicing through me. And witnessing the young couple watching their 3 year old play on the indoor playground that the airport provided, as they snuggled and kissed, just made me feel sick to my stomach.

I had had dreams of both of those scenarios, and seeing them flaunted before me was filling me with loathing, a feeling that actually seriously alarmed me. Not so long ago, I thought those dreams might have had a chance. But today was a different day. And I was now a different person.

Unable to stand the presence of these perfect people with their perfect lives, in which they were wanted, _appreciated_, I got up and stalked towards the Mens room, not even bothering to pick up my bag. _What was the difference if someone stole my carry-on? _It was common knowledge that life delighted in kicking a guy when he was already down.

Luckily, strangely, the restroom was empty except for me. I looked in the mirror, knowing full well the sight that would greet me. Dark circles under my eyes, and a scowl that I couldn't seem to rid myself of lately. A flat look in my eyes, bespeaking all of the anger and doubts _she_ had dredged up in me with one sentence. I became even angrier looking at my own tortured visage. This wasn't me. I was not a pessimist. I was not a grudge-holder. I was not the kind of guy who wished everyone else to Hell just because my life felt like it was careening out of control. _Careening? _The recently jaded cynic in me asked. _More like exploded into a thousand pieces, most of which were irrecoverable._

The loudspeaker came on, and a perfectly pleasant sounding woman (who I now immediately added to my List of the Loathed) said, "Attention passengers, at this time Flight 754 with service to Rome, Italy will now begin boarding at gate 24. Please have your boarding pass and identification ready for the gate attendant to speed up this process, and on behalf of AirItalia, we hope you enjoy your flight."

Giving my reflection one last dirty look, I exited my little hiding spot. As I walked back toward my abandoned bag, I noted with somber satisfaction that the old couple had apparently already boarded, and the young couple looked like they were having a little spat now- probably related to the fact that their toddler had apparently gotten hold of a writing implement on someone's watch and it had gone unnoticed until she started coloring on their neighbor's recently purchased James Patterson novel. Feeling oddly lighter, and at the same time more perturbed than ever, I got into the boarding line and waited my turn.

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"Good evening Ladies and Gentlemen. I'm Steve Carson, your pilot, and on behalf of AirItalia and this flight crew, I'd like to welcome you aboard Flight 754 to Rome, Italy…"

The pilot's voice droned into a hum of static-like noise in the background. I watched, without really seeing, the overweight guy in the seat across the aisle in front of me try to get comfortable; clearly a losing battle. My mind drifted predictably; I was starting to feel bipolar. Now I was back to depressed.

_I can't believe she did that. _

Morosely, I looked at the empty window seat next to mine. Now, a few days later, the shock was beginning to turn into a miasma of anger and sadness. Alternating fits of rage and depression. I couldn't stop it, and I couldn't control it.

_How could she do that to me? Toss me out like an old pair of shoes? Easy_, another part of my brain replied. _She wasn't over Henry, and she never really wanted you. You were convenient; an easy escape from the stifling life he offered. _

The thought occurred to me, not for the first time, that going on this trip might be a bad idea. It seemed like it should be exactly the thing I needed, but I couldn't shake the feeling that it just would not turn out good. But no way was I going to let _her _ruin my life goals. Seemed to me she ought to be happy just to screw up her own life. Just then, the pilot's voice filtered back in.

"…will take about 10 hours and 27 minutes today, and weather looks good so far, so we should be in for a nice smooth flight. Please remember that there is no smoking aboard this aircraft…

I chuckled mirthlessly to myself. I didn't smoke, but right about then, if someone had offered me one I might have just taken them up in it. I felt like I needed something, anything to take my mind off of the horrible events of a few days ago. At this time last week, I had been eagerly anticipating this flight. Not that flying was my favorite activity in the world, but the prospect of spending an entire month in Rome and the surrounding countryside was just amazing. Getting to know my heritage; where it was I came from. Finding my flavor. The opportunity to visit the most romantic place on earth had been exciting even when I was planning on going it alone; the thought of being there with Betty had made me feel like the luckiest guy on earth. _Had. Past tense._

My attention drifted back to the empty seat as memories flooded me. "I care about you too," Betty had said. " But not in that way."

_Bullshit. You're too scared to admit it. _Just recalling the sentence put a bitter taste in my mouth.

"And I feel like if I go to Rome with you, I'm just going to be leading you on…."

_Leading me on? Because you haven't been doing that for the last…3 months, at least? _

I literally felt my lips curving into a sneer at this recalled bit of the conversation. Irritated with myself for going over this in my head for about the 4000th time, I forced myself to look away from the window and focus on the positives.

_At least you'll get a clear view out the window. And you can stretch out if you want to. _

I felt my own expression darken as I unsuccessfully tried to convince myself that the fact that I was on this plane alone didn't bother me. That it didn't eat me up inside, knowing that she had found me wanting. As if her rejection wasn't bad enough, now I had only that to think of for the next 10 hours, 10 weeks, 10 months…

"Now if you'll please direct your attention to the television screens, we'll be going through the safety procedures…."

I tuned him out completely, and put on my complimentary headphones. Picking a random channel on the in-flight tv, I cranked the volume and closed my eyes, hoping I could drown my own thoughts out as the plane began to taxi on the runway.

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It didn't work. Didn't matter that Betty was the last person I wanted to think about, or envision after I closed my eyes. She was just there. Saying it over and over again. _"But not in that way…" _My mood grew darker and more hostile with each passing hour of the forced confinement I was living. It was tearing me up inside to think that I had let myself fall so hard, and so deeply in love with someone who could casually dismiss me like that. _How could I have been that stupid? _It didn't even mollify me to reflect that she had given Egg Salad his ring back. For one heart-stopping moment, I had thought she had chosen me. I thought she had chosen _us_.

And then it all came crashing down in my face. I wanted to hate her. When she came up to me and delivered that blow, so calmly and portraying no emotion that I could see, I wanted to shout, and argue. And hit something and show her how wrong she was. I wanted to give her the coldest, dirtiest look I could and walk away; be done with it. I wanted to kiss her like I had in the deli that day, except more punishing.

She was lying and I knew it. I kept my mouth shut and listened as the highlight of my life thus far became nothing but a nightmare. A guy can only take so much. But I'd already given too much of myself to continue being treated like that. I didn't say anything; just stood there and fumed. And she knew I was angry when I walked away. I couldn't talk to her anymore. I was just too angry. She tried calling after me; I kept walking. I walked past the rest of the Mode team, celebrating their victory, and the rage really began. How dare they be happy. Celebrating. This…this world that they lived in was so completely false. And _she _had finally become one of them.

She tried to call me before I left. A lot, actually. I didn't answer any of her calls. Even when I wasn't drowning in my anger, talking to her hurt too much. I knew what she was going to say. She wanted to remain 'friends.' _Friends? As if that was even possible._ How can a woman shatter a guy's heart and then tell him she still wants to be 'friends with him'?

My mother always taught me that I should forgive and forget, but I really didn't see that happening here. Forgiveness wasn't going to be coming for a long time, so the only thing I could do was work on forgetting. Which I suspected would also be near impossible.

I looked at my watch. 7:27am. The first of the suns rays were peeking through the clouds, and below us all I could see was ocean. We were still over the Atlantic. I wanted to get up and walk; stretch my legs. I wanted to punch something still. I wanted to cry. I wanted to be able to sleep. I wanted to curl up and die.

And the worst part was, she wasn't even feeling this. She didn't 'care about me in that way'; I was suffering alone. And on my own. In another country. I should have been feeling nothing but anticipation, excitement; I had been waiting my whole life for this great opportunity, and now all I could think was how horrible this trip was probably going to be, and how I would remember it all my life because of that. _Thanks, Betty. Owe you one. _If I had only truly known…..

I knew it would take time. A lot of time. But one day, I'd be over her. Right now I couldn't control how I was feeling. But luckily, I had at least one month in which to get back to my life, and my plan. The plan that she was no longer a part of. The temptation to throw the plan out the window was strong, just because it bore so much of Betty. All those good times, and bad times weren't going to magically disappear from my memory. I just had to weather this thing long enough so that they wouldn't hurt anymore when I thought of them. Or make me feel happy. I wanted to not feel anything where she was concerned. I wanted the whole thing to be dead to me. So I could get on with my life.

The sun was completely up now, coming in through the windows of the plane obnoxiously, and below us I could see land. Europe. For a moment, the consuming darkness that had taken up temporary residence within my body was blinded by the realization that I had gotten here. Maybe a heartbroken, shattered man, but I had gotten here. It felt like a great weight was lifted off my shoulders. If I could just try to put her out of my mind over the next month, I thought, Europe might be able to begin healing me. There were a million things to do, see, experience. And none that I needed her for.

And I had news for her. If she thought we were going to 'remain friends' when I got back, she could jump off a cliff. Perversely, the vindictive part of me couldn't wait to tell her that either…And this was before I arrived at the hotel and was greeted as 'Mr. Suarez.' So much for the restorative powers of Europe….


	2. What Do You Want From Me?

**Sorry this took so long! Enjoy, and please R/R!!**

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A couple of weeks later…

"Buona notte, ladies and gentlemen," I heard a pleasant, mellow voice with a distinct Italian accent address the crowded cabin. "Welcome aboard flight 98 with service to Gatwick, London, final destination, JFK, New York City. Our expected travel time today…"

I slumped dejectedly in my seat, doing my level best to zone out yet again. Buckled in and already feeling like a caged animal, I leaned back and closed my eyes. Didn't even bother to open them when the guy sitting two seats over asked me if I was traveling with someone, or if it was ok if his wife sat in the empty between us since their seats had been split between the aisles_. __Lovely. Why are there no single people anywhere in this world anymore? _I must have murmured something vaguely 'yes'-like, since said wife got up and sat next to her husband a moment later.

I couldn't believe I was here again. Back in the airplane. For another 10 hour torture session. I was already feeling a bit suffocated. Although, at least this time I wasn't feeling the raw anger and betrayal that had fueled my miserable temper on the way here. Not at this precise moment anyway. _Thank God for small favors._ But every once in awhile I'd find another pocket of anger towards _her _buried.

What I was feeling though, was a whole lot of exhaustion. It was like…I'd been mentally concentrating on theoretical physics, or something confoundingly (for me) similar, for three weeks straight and with no recuperative sleeping time. More than that, I had a monster headache- I suspected that was at least partially self-induced since it had never really left since _that_ day. Furthermore, I was pretty sure the close quarters weren't helping. I'd never really been bothered by small spaces before, but after these necessarily evil plane rides were over, I was pretty sure I would be developing a slight case of claustrophobia.

All in all, I was feeling pretty beat. The desire to go home was strong. The desire to avoid home, almost stronger in some ways. Horrible though it had been at first, there was one bright spot- my trip had not been wasted. I'd done what I'd set out to do, and found my flavor. Maybe I hadn't been able to enjoy life to the absolute fullest while on my travels, but finding my flavor, my muse, was the crucial thing. And I hadn't been let down in that respect. _Who needed a significant other to enjoy Italy anyway? _I thought (in what some might call a bitter fashion) as I reflected on my trip.

My stay in Rome had been relatively short, only 3 or 4 days, but plagued with nothing but misery nonetheless. Everywhere I went, lovers abounded- seemingly posing in the most romantic of places as if to expressly rub it in my face that I was here alone, and not by choice. I'd actually witnessed a marriage proposal at the Trevi Fountain, which had instantaneously caused my blood to run cold. I had found myself, unconsciously of course, practically running back the way I had come amidst all of the happy clapping and shouting from onlookers wishing the happy couple well wishes (_of course __**that**__ guy's girlfriend had said yes and meant it_). I was dismayed to find how much it still hurt thinking about it now, even after weeks in which to get over it. And now I was angry too that something so romantic was destroyed forever for me. _Man, she'd really knocked it home_.

In addition to that, from the moment I had stepped off the plane, (thankfully, one of the tickets had my name on it, or I most certainly would never have made it this far to begin with) I'd been addressed as 'Mr. Suarez'. At the hotel. At restaurants. I couldn't believe it- she was still here, torturing me beyond belief, even in another freaking country._ Now there's capable_. The irony wasn't lost on me. Here I was, in Italy, staying at four star establishments on the Meade Empire's dime, hadn't had to pay for a cent of this myself. But I had to be reminded of her with every waking move. _Always a catch_.

Finally I gave in and headed towards the Southern countryside and hopefully relative anonymity. It was kind of startling to realize that those Italians would give anyone a motorbike if their paper was good. Having a genuine Italian last name probably hadn't hurt any either. In any case, I'd taken it and ran without looking back. Equipped with a good road map, backpack, and Italian dictionary, being without a plan didn't even bother me. I actually welcomed it; if nothing else, it had to help distract me.

My first stop at a quaint Italian farm to try and get some help deciphering my 'good' road map had done me a world of good, as well as providing some of the only pleasant memories it appeared I was going to get from this trip. The old woman and her equally ancient husband had welcomed me like a long-lost son instead of some bewildered American tourist of Italian extraction. They had a boy who lived and worked with them on the farm, Giordano, who spoke decent English, and once my basic story was out, the old couple had insisted that I stay with them. I tried to decline politely, but the Colaroccos would not be deterred. After a whole lot of arm waving and cheek pinching (on old Ana Maria's part), I finally gave in to my debilitating American attitude of paranoia and accepted the offer for what it was- the hospitality that Mediterranean cultures were famed for. I used their rustic country farm as a base camp of sorts and took trips during the day. Sometimes I went with Ana Maria's husband, Fabrizio, to visit neighbors, and sometimes I stripped down to my undershirt and helped Giordano in the barns and fields. Southern Italy in the middle of summer is pretty damn hot. Betty still lingered in the back of my mind, but I had managed to stifle the majority of my self-pity in hard labor, sweat and distraction at the Colarocco's farm.

It was during one of these trips to a neighboring farm that I had come across my flavor, and it was like…love at first sight. _Surely this was what it felt like_. I remember it like it was yesterday, which really wasn't so far from the truth if one wanted to put too fine a point on it. I had walked into the barn with Fabrizio and his neighbor, Paolo, and seen those lovely balls of donato scamorza hanging cavalierly from hooks on the ceiling. The pungent tang of the smoky, slightly acidic cheese hit me; my mouth began to water and new sandwiches began forming in my head; it was all I could do not to name them right there on the spot. Paolo Dinnano was my savior. He noticed my interest in the cheese almost right away and, excited by the prospect of a fellow connoisseur, eagerly told me how he achieved his results. I absorbed every detail, and with a promise to return the next day to help Paolo mend a fence to keep his beloved Luisa safe and sound, I secured my destiny- two balls of the wondrous cheese in payment.

Once I found my cheese, my flavor, I was consumed by the need to …create. It was just imperative that I wrap things up here and move on with life, one sandwich at a time. I enjoyed one last dinner on the farm with Ana Maria, Fabrizio and Giordano, and announced my intentions of leaving the next day. There were tears and disappointed faces, but I had found what I came for. I was grateful for their assistance and companionship, and amid phone number exchanges and promises of returning one day for a visit, I set back out to Rome on my little motorbike.

The closer I got to the busy city, the heavier my heart felt. I had been able to spend nearly two weeks of blissful distraction, and had purposely kept thoughts of New York at bay. Under any other circumstances, I never in a million years would have cashed my ticket in early to go home, but I couldn't hide in the Italian countryside forever- no matter how tempting. If nothing else, my family was already going to murder me- outside of calling them when I had arrived to let them know I was safe, I hadn't really spoken to them.

I thought more about my time on the farm. I'd never had the opportunity to live in the countryside before; I thought I rather liked it. A lot actually. _What a great place to raise a family_. If the thought made me a little wistful, I tried not to give in to it- although even I felt the little smile I'd had on my face fade.

Absently, I looked out the window, and was slightly startled to realize that we were already preparing for landing in London. Somehow, in my distraction, I hadn't even realized we'd taken off. For a moment I panicked, feeling as if I had left something behind. But then I remembered that my flavor was safe- my beautiful Italian scamorza was carefully, lovingly packaged and packed in my carry-on, just waiting for the second I could get it to the deli and begin delighting NYC with its rich flavor. This was going to put me on the map, I could practically taste it.

I exited the plane with the others and made my way into the busy airport, ruminating on my life pre-Scamorza, and daydreaming about what it was going to be like from now on. I was just amazed and humbled at how a dairy product could change the very fabric of life. And I was going to embrace it, all of it, eagerly. I even went so far as to wonder if it wasn't better things had ended up this way- if I'd had Betty with me, I may not have discovered this so quickly, if at all. Probably would have gotten stuck in the tourist traps in Rome or tried to do something stupidly romantic and gotten completely distracted from my mission, I thought cynically.

On something like autopilot, I grabbed some airport grub (which definitely could have benefited from my once-in-a-lifetime find) and found myself a relatively comfortable chair away from the crowds- not easy to do in an airport. I still had hours before the plane was due to take off. Forgetting my troubles for a few minutes and concentrating on all the fame and glory that awaited me back at the deli post-Scamorza, I closed my eyes, feeling much better about being on the way back home now. And all of a sudden…

_I was standing near the reception desk at Mode, and the office was strangely empty of everyday activities and the people I was so used to seeing by now. It was so quiet and still that I could hear my own heartbeat. The silence and inactivity was creepy. I spotted the elevator and hurried towards it. Just as I was about to press the 'Down' button, the bell dinged, and the doors opened. Henry stepped out and gave me a smile and a handshake. Then he put his arm around my shoulder and motioned that I should follow him back in the direction that I had just come from, talking to me like we were good friends or something. _

_When I turned around, suddenly the office was teeming with life. Phones were ringing and chatter was rampant. Amanda was behind the desk as usual, filing her nails and giving every guy that walked by a suggestive look. It seemed so normal, but still felt wrong. Henry was still talking, and I struggled to focus back in on what he was saying._

"…_got a date with Betty," he said excitedly and pointed down the hall. My eyes followed Henry's gesture just in time to see the back of Betty's brightly colored skirt and a swish of long dark hair round a corner and disappear from sight._

_A bit uncomfortable, I turned to look up at Henry, and was startled to see that Henry was no longer there- Hilda had taken his place, and was now excitedly talking about something she and Betty were doing after work that night. Just then, someone jostled me from behind, catching me off guard. I had to turn my body slightly to catch my balance. It was Marc, and he was saying snidely, "Betty's not here right now- she's out with her boyfriend, who turns out not to be __**you**__, sandwich man."_

_I gave him a strange look- first of all, who said I was looking for Betty? I thought indignantly. Secondly, I'd just seen her with my own eyes, so I knew she was too here. I ignored how much that last part bothered me. I turned back around to say something to Hilda (like "What the hell is going on?"), and was startled again to find that Daniel was now in her place. He didn't even seem to notice me standing there, but was motioning to someone across the room. "Betty, can you get that file back to me before you leave tonight? Oh hey, Gio," he said, as he noticed me standing there._

_I whipped around to see a clothes rack rolling by the vicinity Daniel had been waving to. Frustratedly, I turned around again, only this time Daniel was gone and Nella was standing next to me. What was __**she **__doing here?_

"_Don't bother with Braces, bro. She's taking me to the movies tonight, so she won't be able to go out with __**you**__," Nella said with a smirk. Great, now even my brat-face little sister was ganging up on me._

_Ok, that was it. There was something seriously messed up going on here, and I was just done with it. I gave dream-Nella a dirty look, and headed back towards the elevator, intent on getting the hell out of this madhouse. Just as I got there, the doors opened. Almost immediately, they began to close again- but not before I saw Betty standing inside holding my balls of scamorza in one hand and the lease to my deli in the other, with a disgustingly smug smile on her face. She held them both out towards me tauntingly, and as the doors closed I could hear her saying in a singsong voice, "Come get them Gio -you've worked so hard , they belong to you…"_

_I became livid with rage. I could feel my blood pressure rising and an overall helplessness bearing down on me. I pounded ineffectually on the door, and hit the button repeatedly, shouting the whole time. And now everyone behind me, including my sister, was laughing at me. The door finally opened and I jumped into the elevator, which was apparently stopping at every single floor on the way down. On the 23__rd__ floor, I jumped out , and savagely mowed some executive types down on my way to the stairs. I ran so quickly down the stairs, it didn't even feel like my feet were touching the floor._

_As I reached the lobby, I saw the back of Betty again, walking out the front door, cheese in one hand, papers in the other. I chased her down the streets of Manhattan endlessly, only to have her turn a corner and disappear, or walk in front of a bus and disappear, every single time. Finally, out of breath and swearing a blue streak, I halted in the middle of the road to catch my breath. I heard shouting behind me, and turned around just in time to see a very large horse pulling a carriage, not unlike the one I had taken Betty for a ride in, about to run me over._

I jerked upright in my chair out of the nightmare. The feelings of rage, frustration, panic, impotence were still wreaking havoc on my sensory system. My breathing was choppy and coming in short bursts, my heart was pounding, and I was sweating like I had just run a marathon. Gripping the armrests of the chair tightly, I looked around, trying to take in my whereabouts. I forced myself to stop gulping for air, and as the blind panic subsided a little, I realized that I was still at the airport. _Shit_. I had fallen asleep. _How long had I been out for? _

A new type of panic setting in, I fished around in my pocket desperately for my boarding pass. The plane was leaving at 7:05. My watch said that it was 7:00 sharp. Momentarily putting the dream behind me, I jumped up, grabbed my bag and ran for the gate. That was exactly what I did NOT need, to miss my flight. _Was this trip meant to be cursed the entire way?_

I got there just as the gate attendant was closing the door. "WAIT!" I yelled. "I'm here! I cannot miss this plane."

She glanced at my pass to verify that I was indeed the missing passenger, and shooed me through the door. I ran down the ramp and onto the plane, apologizing to the staff and hurrying back to my seat. No sooner had I sat down in my seat did the plane start taxiing. I slumped in my chair, still feeling the adrenaline from both the dream and the mad dash to the gate. Again I had to force myself to breathe more regularly. _Calm down_, I told himself. _You made it. _The dream/nightmare was hovering in the back of my consciousness demanding attention, but I dismissed it for now. I had an almost 8 hour plane ride ahead of me in which to torture myself with it. And quite frankly, I wanted a few minutes in which to congratulate myself that it had a) been only a dream, b) I hadn't missed the plane, and c) there was no way my life could possibly get worse today.


End file.
